Mary's Eyes
by superwholock1317
Summary: John is drunk. John is angry. Dean has Mary's eyes, and that pisses him off. WARNING: Rating for language and child abuse (physical/verbal but not sexual)


**A/N: Ok, I think I fixed the formatting errors. Sorry about that. Thank you to everyone who pointed it out to me. **

** I didn't have anyone to beta this for me, so sorry for any mistakes. Reviews are welcomed! Dean is 16 and Sam is 12. **

Dean blinked heavily as he tried to stay awake. He stared at the TV, watching but not comprehending what movie was playing. Something to do with robots or cyborgs or something. He didn't know. He didn't care. He was too tired to care.

Dean jumped when his head fell forward onto his chest, startling him. Glancing over at his brother sleeping beside him, he shook his head, trying to clear it of the drowsiness. It didn't matter how tired he was, he couldn't go to sleep yet. Not until John came home.

His father was at the bar. Of course, he didn't bother to tell Dean he was going to the bar, he just left. But Dean knew. That was where John always went after a hunt went bad. And this hunt had skipped bad and gone straight to hell.

It was supposed to be a simple poltergeist hunt. Get the facts, find the bitch, burn the bones. Boom. Done. In and out. Or at least that's what they thought two days ago.

Bobby had tipped John to this hunt. His dad, who had been getting restless as the anniversary of Mary's death approached, jumped at the opportunity, not even bothering to get the details. They drove straight through the night and through part of the day, not stopping until they got to the motel. Then John immediately put on a suit and left to go interview some witnesses.

That was when shit hit the fan. John had gathered enough information to figure out that the poltergeist was the ghost of a woman who had died trying to save her child from an intruder. The assailant had stabbed the mother before stealing her jewelry and setting the house on fire. Both the mother and the child died in the inferno, and the woman continued to haunt the reconstructed house.

The backstory, though lacking in demonic characters, was a little too similar to their own, especially with the anniversary of Mary's death was just around the corner. To take the edge off the bitter memories, John found solace in a bottle of Jack. Before this, John was careful to never drink on a hunt. This time, however, when he and Dean loaded up the Impala to go hunt down the ghost's remains, he was drunk.

John's drunken state had cost him a burn on his arm and Dean a busted knee, and to top it all off, the bitch was still out there. They didn't get her. Neither one of them had said a word on the drive back to the motel. Once they arrived, John dropped Dean off then sped out of the parking lot without further explanation.

Dean tried to convince himself that John was justified with his actions, what with the anniversary of Mary's death right around the corner. He needed something to take the edge off; Dean got that, he did. But that didn't mean he approved of what John would inevitably do when he came back.

Dean had silently limped inside and wrapped some ice in a towel for his knee. He then climbed onto the bed, being careful not to wake Sam, and waited. Waited for his father to get back. Waited for the mess of a man he would have to clean up. Waited for the inevitable punches.

The first time he had fallen asleep while John was like this, he had woken to John whipping Sam with a belt. Granted, John's aim was skewed and the leather rarely made contact, but the malicious intent was there. Dean had vowed from then on to never let that happen again. He would never let John hurt Sam again. So he waited.

Around 3 in the morning, Dean heard the familiar rumble of the Impala pull into the parking lot. He waited to hear his father's heavy footsteps outside the door and the sound of the card key in the lock, but it never came. After five minutes of silence, Dean sighed and levered himself to his feet, favoring his right leg. He limped towards the door, mentally preparing himself for whatever state John was in.

He found John slumped forward in the front seat of the Impala, passed out. Dean was tempted to just leave him there, to let him suffer the consequences of his actions, but decided against it. He knew that if he left his father there, John would be even more pissed in the morning and would take his anger out on Dean. Or, God forbid, on Sammy.

Dean opened the driver-side door and paused, unsure how to continue. He couldn't really carry his dad inside with his busted knee, but then again he really didn't want to wake him and risk his wrath. After a moment of contemplation, Dean decided his knee was the lesser of the two evils, and bent to pull his father out of the car. He managed to pull them both a few steps towards the motel before his knee gave out and they both collapsed to the ground. Dean fell heavily on his left arm, and John fell heavily onto Dean. A moan escaped Dean's lips as John landed on his knee.

The force of the impact woke John up. He lifted his heavy head and looked around before groggily asking, "What t'hell we doin' on the groun'?"

"We, uh, we fell, Dad." Dean stated cautiously.

"Why t'hell'd we do that?"

_Because you got shitfaced on a hunt and now my knee's screwed to hell. _"I tripped. Sorry, sir."

"You tripped?"

"Yes sir," Dean answered carefully.

"You fuckin' _tripped?_"

_Oh, shit. _"Yes."

"What kinda fuckin' hun'er fucking trips? Damn, boy, I though' I trained you be'er than tha'." John's words were slurred as he struggled to his feet.

"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir, it won't happen again."

"It fuckin' better not, son," John started to stumble towards the room. Dean struggled to get to his feet, but his knee didn't want to cooperate. He collapsed to the ground in a heap. Dean sucked in his breath, praying his father hadn't heard him fall.

John turned slowly, glaring at his son crumpled in the rough gravel. Dean tried to crawl backwards as John advanced, but his efforts weren't enough to let him escape the foot that slammed into his stomach.

"Useless piece o'shit!" John yelled as his foot rammed into Dean's ribcage again. "How t'hell you 'posed to kill anythin' when you trippin' over your own damn feet?" Dean gasped as the air was driven from his lungs, curling protectively around his midsection. John mercilessly pounded his foot into Dean's side repeatedly. "How're you ever gonna protect anyone, Dean? You can' even fuckin' walk right!" A particularly hard kick sent Dean rolling across the parking lot. John didn't relent, though; he just followed after him and smashed his foot into Dean's ribcage. Dean bit his lip to keep himself from crying out, knowing it would only anger his father more, but he couldn't stop the groan that escaped his lips when John's foot connected with his injured knee. At the sound of his moan, John growled and grabbed a handful of his jacket, yanking him up roughly.

"Are you fuckin' crying? Hun'ers don' fuckin' cry." A hard punch to the gut had Dean doubled over, his father's grip the only thing keeping him from falling.

"Dad, I'm sorry, please..." Dean groaned, but stopped when another fist connected with his stomach.

"Hun'ers don' fuckin' beg neither, you shit. You think a werewolf or vamp's gonna let you go if you fuckin' beg? Hells no!" Another swift blow to the gut. "You call yourself a hun'er? You ain't no hun'er; you're pitiful. Mary would-" John stopped at the mention of his dead wife. Tears suddenly welled in his eyes and he loosened his grip on Dean's jacket, though he didn't let go. He stood there, crying against his son.

"Dad?" Dean asked uncertainly between ragged breaths. He had never seen his father break down like this; he wasn't sure what to do. And frankly, this sudden mood change scared him.

"I mis'her so much. Why'd she have to, to die?" John's shoulders shook as he cried. "MARY!" he suddenly yelled in anguish, pushing Dean away as he dropped to his knees. Dean stumbled, again falling to the ground when his knee protested the sudden movement. He gasped for breath as he lay there, watching his father sob on the ground. He didn't know how to react. After several moments, Dean tentatively crawled to John's side, one arm wrapped around his tender ribs.

"Dad?" Dean asked again. John looked at him, and froze. Dean tensed under his father's gaze, unsure what to expect.

"You got your mo'her's eyes," John whispered. "Why the FUCK do you got your mother's eyes?!" he shouted, grabbing Dean once more and shaking him violently. "You don' deserve her eyes! You're nothin' like her! You're a screw up, and she was perfect!" Dean's head snapped to the side as John punched him across the face. "Don' look at me with her eyes!" he screamed before laying into Dean with abandon, punching his eyes over and over.

"Dad, stop! Please!" Dean pleaded, trying desperately to get away from his father's grip, but his efforts only made John angrier. He punched Dean until his eyes were so swollen he could hardly see. Dean was barely conscious when John finally stopped, pushing him to the ground. "You don't fucking deserve her eyes," he growled as he drew his knife from his boot and leaned over his son. "You can't have them." He pressed to the tip of the knife to the side of Dean's left eye and….

"DAD STOP!" John paused at the sound of his youngest son's voice. Sam was standing in the door of their room, tying to comprehend the situation before him. Obviously the sound of his father beating his brother had woken him up. "What the hell are you doing?!" John sneered at him before dragging the knife down along Dean's eye. Dean screamed as the knife bit into his skin.

The sound of his brother's pain seemed to bring Sam out of his shock. "STOP!" He screamed as he ran towards John, grabbing him by the shoulders and trying to yank him away from Dean. While he wasn't able to pull John away from his brother, he was able to tug the hand holding the knife away from Dean's face. "What the hell are you doing?!" he asked again, still trying to get John away from Dean.

"Stay out of this, boy, it's none of your concern." John roughly pushed Sam away.

"Like hell it's none of my concern!" Sam growled and tackled John. Although he was only twelve, he was tall for his age, and he managed to unbalance his drunken father and forced him to the ground. Sam immediately jumped up and placed himself between his father and his injured brother. "Stay away from him," he warned, not able to keep the fearful quiver from his voice.

"Ge' outta th' way, son," John's voice was low and dangerous as he regained his feet, knife still in hand.

"No," Sam said defiantly, eyes never leaving the knife in John's hand.

"I said ge' t'hell outta my way!" John charged at Sam, knife raised. The alcohol in his system made him unbalanced, however, and Sam easily sidestepped him, knocking the knife out of his hand at the same time. John stumbled, falling roughly to the ground. Sam didn't give him time to recover. He jumped on his father, punching him as hard as he could, tears falling freely from his eyes. The image of his father beating his brother senseless kept playing through his mind, and his only thought was to protect Dean. Sam didn't stop punching until he heard Dean's weak voice behind him.

"Stop." Dean's voice was barely above a whisper, but it was enough. Sam froze, staring at his bruised and bloody brother. Dean was breathing heavily, his eyes swollen shut and his arms wrapped around his midsection. "Please stop, Sammy."

Sam immediately ran to Dean's side, leaving his father in the dirt. John wasn't unconscious, but between the beer and the punches, he was having a hard time focusing.

"Are you ok?" Sam asked frantically. Dean groaned in response. Sam tried to remain calm as he realized just how badly beaten his brother was. He didn't look good.

"Come on, let's get into the room," Sam said, noticing his father was becoming more coherent. Dean moaned as Sam helped him stand. He leaned heavily against his younger brother, his right knee unable to support his weight. Together they managed to slowly limp into the room. Sam guided them into the bathroom, carefully lowering Dean to the floor before rushing out to grab the first aid kit. He heard his father scuffing around outside the room and he hurried back to the bathroom. Sam quickly turned the lock, creating a physical barrier between the brothers and their father.

"Are you ok?" Sam asked again as he leaned down next to Dean. "Holy shit," he whispered as he got his first look at the damage his father had done. Dean's eyes were already black and blue, so swollen that not a hint of green shone through. The cut along his left eye was still bleeding slowly. Sam leaned in closer to examine the wound. "I don't think it'll need stitches, but it's hard to tell," he said uncertainly. With his eyes so swollen, it was hard to tell how serious the cut was. Dean didn't reply. Sam silently cleaned the wound as best he could.

"Is there anywhere else?" he asked when he was done. He had only caught the last part of the beating; he had no idea what else their father had done.

Dean nodded weakly. "Ribs," he groaned, "and knee." Keeping himself from passing out took a conscious effort and he was finding it difficult to concentrate. He knew there was a good chance he had a concussion.

"Why did he do this?" Sam asked as he helped ease Dean out of his shirt.

Dean gasped in pain as his ribs were jostled with the movement. "I...urgh! I tripped." Dean gritted his teeth as he leaned his now bare back against the bathtub.

"That's bullshit," Sam replied as he slowly ran his hands along Dean's midsection, checking for broken ribs. "Why did he really do it?"

Dean was silent for a moment before replying. "He was drunk. He misses mom." He gasped as Sam's hand brushed over a tender spot on his left side.

"I think it might be cracked," Sam mumbled. Sam rummaged through the first aid kit until he found an Ace bandage. He carefully wrapped Dean's mottled blue midsection in the bandage. Dean sighed when he was done.

"Better?" Sam asked.

Dean nodded. "Yeah. Thanks."

"Now for your knee." Sam examined it gently through the denim and decided that, given how swollen the joint was, it would be easier to cut the jeans than to try to help Dean take them off. He had just grabbed the scissors out of the first aid kit when they heard the sound of the motel door slamming. They both froze, listening tensely as they tried to determine what their father was doing.

Sam jumped when John slammed against the bathroom door. "I know you're in there boys," he hollered. "Le'mme in! I ain' finished with you!"

Neither brother said anything. They didn't move. They barely breathed. They just sat their and listened as their father continued to slam against the door, praying he hadn't sobered up enough to pick the lock. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, John stopped his pounding. "Fine!" he yelled. "You ain't worth it anyway!" He slumped away, and they heard the mattress squeak as he collapsed on the bed.

Sam relaxed a little when he realized their father couldn't get to them. Dean, however, remained tense. He jumped when Sam put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "It's ok! Sorry, it's just me!" Sam said quickly, suddenly remembering that his brother couldn't see. Dean relaxed slightly, although he still seemed ready to run if needed.

"Are you ok?" Dean asked quietly as Sam cut through his jeans. He hated that Sam had to take care of him. He shouldn't have to. He was the big brother, it was his job to take care of Sam, not the other way around. How the hell was he ever going to be able to protect Sam against supernatural beings if he couldn't even protect himself?

"Yeah, I'm fine," Sam replied as he finished the cut. "He didn't get me." They were both silent as Sam dug out a cold pack and wrapped it around Dean's knee. "Anything else?" Dean shook his head and Sam settled down beside him, their backs leaning against the cool bathtub. Dean was almost asleep when Sam broke the silence.

"Why'd you stop me?"

"What?"

"Why'd you stop me from fighting dad?"

Dean paused for a moment, unsure how to reply. Honestly, he wasn't really sure why he had told Sam to stop. "Because...he's our dad."

"He's a crappy dad."

"But he's _our_ dad. He's family. And he's all we've got left." Neither one of them said anything else.

Dean leaned his head back against the porcelain tub. He believed what he said. Most of the time, John was a great dad. But it was incidents like this that made it hard to remember at times. Sure, they were few and far between, but the fact was they happened. John got drunk and beat his kids. Despite this, Dean loved him anyway. He was family. No matter how much he beat on him, Dean didn't want him dead.

Unless he went after Sammy.

Dean had vowed to never let John hurt Sammy again. He would do anything to protect him. He wouldn't tolerate someone hurting his little brother.

So if John ever went after Sam, Dean knew he would kill him.

**A/N: I'm thinking about incorporating this into a longer story. Let me know what you think!**


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